Empty Spaces
by Dustbunny3
Summary: [One-shot][Kimbalina] Carolina deals, kinda, and Kimball helps.
A/N: Man, I suck at crossposting... Anyway! I wrote this for Femslash February. I shied away from writing this ship because there are a number of people I can think of who do it better, but decided to go ahead and take a stab anyway. So, have some mild, h/c communal grooming set sometime after the S13 finale. I think it came out pretty well! I'd have liked to rewatch a bit before writing but ended up doing this practically on a whim and thus didn't, so let me know if anything seems particularly off. Enjoy!

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Carolina leans forward against the wash racks wall, the spray of the shower she came in for glancing off her head and shoulders and back, pooling at her feet, running down her face like tears. Shivers shake her body and rattle her teeth; the hot water has long run out, but some part of her welcomes an outside reason for the cold wrapped around her insides.

A door opens and she tenses; footsteps pad across and the tension shifts, pulling at her jaw as it settled behind her eyes.

"Carolina?" Vanessa Kimball calls, hardly audible over the white noise of the shower (not the shower) in Carolina's ears. "Is everything… Are you still in here?"

"Yeah," Carolina says to the wall, telling herself she doesn't care whether she's heard. There is no one to tell her differently, but she clears her throat anyway and says again, louder, "Yeah."

More footsteps, a presence behind her– new but already familiar, already too safe. Another step into the stall and then an intake of breath, sharp as the chill clawing down her back, and a hiss as it's let out. Maybe it's the cold, maybe it isn't. Carolina doesn't know what she looks like, but she's sure it isn't much to look at.

"Have you even stepped under that spray?" Kimball asks; her voice is neutral, but there's a lot of words under the ones she's spoken.

"Sorry," Carolina says, because she is. It occurs to her to say something else when no one else does, but it feels too late by then.

Behind her, Kimball breathes, not quite a sigh. She comes closer and Carolina can feel her hand hovering just over her shoulder, can feel the heat off of her. It might be because of that that Carolina's shoulder twitches towards her, towards the offered warmth, might be because of that that she is the one to establish contact, pressing her chill flesh to that warm hand. It might be or might not be. Whatever the reason, contact is made, permission given.

Kimball responds immediately, curling her fingers around Carolina's shoulder, around the access granted. She pulls and Carolina follows, gasping as she's walked back into the shower spray, cold like nails digging into her skin. It's not until the water is pouring over her that she realizes how much of her was still dry, how much of her was still warm. There's a moment that she sways on her feet and she's sure the sorry pressure of the Republic shower will be enough to beat her into the ground where so much and so many have failed. But Carolina stays on her feet, fights to stay on her feet, pushing back against the hand still steady on her shoulder.

"You got this?" Kimball asks, and doesn't let go until Carolina nods.

Even then, she's only gone for a second before she's back again, washcloth and what passes for soap around here in hand. She scrubs Carolina down with a military efficiency, hands going cold like the water has but her touch is still so warm. She works a circuit around Carolina, going over every inch of her.

The cloth and soap are put aside on an inbuilt shelf and Kimball takes her by the shoulders to turn her back to the spray. When that's done, her hands go to Carolina's hair, not touching her but not far from it, and tug free the hair tie that Carolina has just realized was holding her hair back this whole time.

It falls like something dead, matted to her neck and shoulders. Kimball runs her fingers through it a few times, letting the water run all the way to her scalp, then reaches for a bottle of what Carolina has been assured is shampoo. It looks almost like a dallop of mud in Kimball's palm and smells bewilderingly similar to nutmeg. Kimball cups the back to her skull and tilts her head out of the spray to massage it into her hair. It's no different than the scrubdown had been, not at its core, but Kimball's nails scratching over Carolina's scalp ease her headache and drown out the sound of nothing in her head. The next shiver that goes through her, no obviously different to an outsider from the last, is a pleasant one.

"Almost done," Kimball tells her.

"You didn't have to do this," Carolina says because she probably should have, even though her own disappointment is loud in her ears.

Kimball is kind enough not to mention it, though the twitch at the corner of her mouth is confirmation enough that she heard it to. She says, "I know I didn't. Rinse."

Despite the direction, she guides Carolina's head back herself with her fingertips. Carolina closes her eyes in a wince at the cold stabbing in a place that had almost forgotten it, then keeps them closed to revel in the feeling of Kimball's hands in her hair, rinsing it of suds. There is a moment when her fingers press at the base of Carolina's neck and Carolina leans heavy into the touch, sighing relief as it seems almost to fill the emptiness left there.

Almost. And only for a moment. Kimball maintains the contact for a moment longer, but Carolina shifts away from it as the illusion breaks. Kimball slips back into her own place in Carolina's mind (and elsewhere) and goes on about her business and neither of them talk about it.

It isn't much longer before they're finished, Kimball reaching past Carolina to shut off the water. She leads her out of the stall like she thinks Carolina might have forgotten the way, sits her on a bench and towels her down with the same efficiency she'd washed her with. It's only then, somehow, that Carolina notes the way Kimball's jaw is trembling.

"You're freezing," she says, unnecessarily.

"It's cold in here," Kimball points out, also unnecessary, another smile tugging at her mouth. She tosses Carolina a set of clothes that she must have brought with her, because Carolina hadn't thought to bring anything but her armor to change into.

She hesitates, bites her tongue and manages, "Thanks." She tugs on the sweatpants, pulls the sports bra and tank top over her head, slips her feet into the tennis shoes. From the fit, she guesses they're all Kimball's and she feels warmer in them than she ought to.

"Come on," Kimball says, offering her a hand and pulling her to her feet, winding an arm around her shoulders but not really holding her until Carolina leans back into it, perhaps still seeking heat though there's little now to speak of. "Let's get you out of here and warmed up."

"Is that an offer, General?" Carolina asks without thinking. In the quiet that follows, she hears something echo in the back of her mind. It sounds a little like laughter and a little like _You've been spending too much time with Tucker_ and it's gone when she listens for it again.

Kimball is looking at her, just looking at her, and concern catches Carolina's breath. Her mouth is open to apologize when Kimball's thumb strokes over the curve of her shoulder and she says, slow like her tongue is on a landmine, "It's a possibility, if nothing else."

Carolina nods, says only, "yeah," presses up against Vanessa's side as they go. There is still an emptiness aching in the back of her head, there at the base of her neck, but another part of her feels full to bursting. For now, at least, she can work with that.


End file.
